


The Sabbatical

by morelikeassassin



Category: Archive 81 (Podcast), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: I mean basically it's a very mini road trip, what is anything but a road trip of a different size
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morelikeassassin/pseuds/morelikeassassin
Summary: Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.





	1. A Night Off

There was a mug in the Archive breakroom that nobody used for two reasons. The first was that no one could identify whose it was. This didn't make it mechanically less desirable, but something about its rococo floral pattern did imply an owner who might come seeking revenge if it was left out of place for too long. It was unsettling to look at in the same way that a very poisonous animal is. Even now that he was the Archivist, Jon had a sense of foreboding when he approached it, and a definite feeling of triumph when he actually used it for the first time.

The second reason was that the mug held 30 ounces of liquid, and that was simply too much tea for anyone to want in one sitting.

Anyone, of course, except for Jon left to his own devices at 1:30 in the morning.

As often as it might feel otherwise, Jon was rarely alone in the Archives. It was a comfort more often than not, but it came with the instinct that he needed to be ready in case anyone needed him for something. In case Basira decided to clue him in on whatever plans she was working on. In case Melanie was feeling comfortable enough to actually speak to him. In case Daisy needed company. In case Martin… well, Jon wasn’t sure what it would take to get Martin to come find him, but he wanted to be ready for it all the same. Tonight, though, the Archive was empty. The only person Jon had to attend to was himself.

To celebrate, he had draped himself over the break room couch with a stack of statements and the unreasonably large mug of tea. Having the place to himself provided a lot of little benefits. Talking to himself (and any supernatural entities he imagined were listening) as loudly and inarticulately as he liked; lying across the entire couch, wriggling into a different, more comfortable position every few minutes; shirt untucked, shoes discarded, glasses pushed up onto his head; ambient rain noises blaring from his phone, which was on the floor just barely in reach. He didn’t like music while he read, but he’d salvaged enough of his romantic sensibilities to appreciate the drama that a good thunderstorm added to the experience.

These were all things he could have done any time at all in the comfort of his own home. At least, they would have been, if his home had been at all comfortable anymore. These days he got restless if he was away from the Archives too long. Even if he made it home by a reasonable hour, he found himself waking unexpectedly in the night worrying for the safety of the place, and frankly for himself outside of its protection. He just felt more at home there than anywhere else.

Which was why he was paging through his fourth statement at 2:23 AM. The lineup wasn’t selected for any traits in particular, though he did tend to avoid anything that smacked of the Web. These were statements that he’d been drawn to during his usual investigation, but realized at the last minute weren’t actually relevant to it. Essentially, junk food.

“What do you suppose happens when I run out of these?” he asked the tape recorder lying next to his head. “I haven’t exactly counted them. I’ve just been taking it for granted that they’re all genuine, all the ones in my office, at least. Do I just… what, go rogue? Can’t have an archive if there’s nothing to archive. Maybe I’ll move to China. They’ve got statements there. Decent food. Not the most convenient addiction I’ve ever had, if I’m honest.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the sofa with a sigh. “Take Martin, fly to China, blow the place up on my way out for old time’s sake. It’s what Gertrude would have wanted. And Tim. Probably Sa-” He clinked the tape recorder with his mug for emphasis, knocking it onto the floor. “-ahhh, hell.” Blindly, he reached out to pick it up.

The recorder was nowhere to be found. Neither, for that matter, was the floor.

Jon’s eyes snapped open and were immediately met with darkness. He swore loudly. This couldn’t be an attack on the Archives, he would have seen that coming. When he reached out for the rest of the building, he came to the nauseating realization that he was no longer _in_ the Archives. There was a staticky hole where the information should have been when he tried to orient himself. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t anywhere at all. His feet dangled into open air below the bottom of the sofa.

“Hello?” he called out. The sound was eaten up by the darkness, reassuring him that he wasn’t trapped in an enclosed space. That reassurance helped more than he liked to admit. He tried to focus on what he did know, Beholding powers or not. He could feel the sofa, but he could tell that it was still back in the break room, detached somehow from the inky expanse. Jon was struck with the image of a Pepper’s Ghost, a staple of cheap haunted houses used to project apparitions into thin air. Only, in this situation, Jon was the ghost being projected elsewhere.

It took him a moment to notice that he also knew where the tape recorder was. Sort of. He at least knew that it was somewhere he could reach safely if he left the couch. Somewhere very, very far from the Archives.

The thought came to him that he should retrieve it. He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. It wouldn’t just fall on deaf ears, he thought, but no ears at all. The recorder wasn’t listening. Neither was the Eye, not here. It was just him. Of course, this meant that the opposing argument - an increasingly sharp need to know where the tape recorder had fallen to - was just him, too.

“No. No, it is my _night off_ ,” he protested. The darkness was silent. Jon straightened his papers, sighed again, and took a swig of his tea.

The darkness waited patiently.

* * *

“-the Eye sees through me. The Eye sees me, the Eye sees through me,” chanted Nicholas Waters. “The Eye sees me, the Eye sees through me.” He consulted a little notebook palmed into one hand. None of the verbal components to this ritual were complicated, but that made him even more paranoid of getting careless. “The story is ready for the observer. The story is waiting for the observer. The storyteller asks for the observer.”

There was no response from the empty parking lot. Nick studied the summoning symbol he’d scratched onto the asphalt in chalk. It had been mercifully simple to draw, a lens shape just wide enough to fit a circle in the middle. A crude, childish representation of an eye.

“That’s it, right?” asked Morgan. She and Static Man were standing on the other side of the circle. “We didn’t skip any steps?”

“This is fine,” said Nick, “It’s more of an invitation than a summoning. The entity can take as much time as it wants to decide how to answer.”

“Kind of a dick move, though,” said Static Man. “Like, I’m sorry, but if you went through all the trouble of becoming a sanity-bending rip in the fabric of reality, you gotta play the part just a little.”

“Making us wait does add to the suspense,” said Nick. “Morgan, you said you'd dealt with this thing before?”

"Sort of," said Morgan. "I’ve heard of the Beholding, but nothing about an Archivist. I found a shrine to it once, when I took a wrong turn in the library at my old college. It didn’t take much asking around to find out what it was. The way people talked about it was almost like a god, something you’d worship and gain favor with. Not the kind of entity you’d summon in the parking lot of a mall. Even before the accident, everyone knew it was dark, darker than most of us wanted to mess with.”

“Accident?” asked Static Man.

Morgan frowned and went quiet for a second, staring down at the circle.

“Someone went missing,” she said softly. “Rumor was that he kept using it to cheat on tests, and eventually it just… devoured him. Some of its followers kept their distance after that. The ones that still could. They warned the rest of us to do the same.”

“Which is why we’re using a conduit,” said Nick. Morgan glanced up, and he gave her the most reassuring smile he could offer. “This thing, the Archivist, it’s supposed to be an aspect of the Beholding. Like an avatar. Not the whole thing.”

“How did _you_ hear about it?” Morgan asked.

All three of them jumped as a tape recorder fell to the ground from empty air. Nick leaned in to investigate, careful not to cross the border of the summoning circle. The machine was still running.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered.

The angle that Nick had positioned himself at meant that, when Jon appeared in the circle, Nick went from staring down at his socks to up at his stern, incredibly irritated face. Looking into his eyes made the hair on the back of Nick’s neck stand on end. He was reminded of a trip he’d taken to the zoo once, when he was very small and there was nothing but a few centimeters of plastic separating him from a hungry, pacing jaguar. He straightened and took a step back.

“Right,” said Jon. “There had better be a spectacular explanation for this.”

“Um,” said Nick. “Greetings! Are you the Archivist?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said Jon. He looked Nick up and down with a puzzled expression, as though Nick was missing something he’d expected to find. “Who are you with?”

“No one,” Nick said immediately. It wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but it was the correct answer to the question. “I mean- I did bring my companions with me. We’re kind of a package deal.”

Jon turned around, took one look at Static Man, and yelped “What the _hell?!_ ”

Static Man rumbled like an oncoming freight truck. Jon tensed and clutched his mug more tightly, apparently ready to stare him down until Nick interrupted. “We’re not here to fight,” he said with a pointed look at Static Man. “I summoned you here to make a bargain. I was told that you can give information in exchange for a story.”

Jon turned back, eyeing Nick warily. Something that he saw put a startlingly hungry look in his eyes. “That depends on what you want to know, Nicholas,” he said.

Morgan and Static Man exchanged nervous glances behind Jon’s back when he said Nick’s name. Nick, for his part, thought this was an excellent sign. He’d chosen the Archivist specifically because it - he - was supposed to be nearly omniscient. It would almost have been disappointing if he _didn’t_ have that trick up his sleeve.

“We need a guide,” Nick explained. “There’s something I want to retrieve from a labyrinth - a list of things, actually - and we need someone who can get us through safely. Someone who can know where each item is, and take us to it through a changing landscape.” He pointed across the parking lot towards a distant building. It looked like a normal warehouse store, except that each end of it extended out towards the horizon as far as the eye could see. Right in the center was a line of sliding glass doors under an enormous pink and green neon sign that blared out into the night: **THE ARCADE**

“You need help with your shopping,” Jon translated. “Really. You abducted me in the middle of the night to help with- Where even are we? How is that building so… endless? Is this just what America’s like?”

“We’re not exactly in America, for one thing, and-” Nick started to say, cutting his answer short before it could continue on its own. “Look, would you mind not doing that? With the questions? I’m not a fan of mind control, when I can avoid it.”

“I would mind, actually,” said Jon. “I’ve very little reason to cooperate with you. I do want to stress that you kidnapped me.”

“Is that why your shoes are missing?” asked Morgan.

“ _And_ my phone.” Jon gestured at her, grateful for the support. He took a couple steps back out of the circle so that they were all facing each other.

“I’m truly sorry for the misunderstanding,” Nick said coolly. “We weren’t informed of your situation. I didn’t expect it to be an imposition. If you’re not interested in our deal, I’m sure we can find a way to send you back.”

Jon looked at Nick in a way very similar to how Static Man usually eyed Nick’s leftovers at the end of a meal. He sighed, and knelt down briefly to retrieve the tape recorder. “What kind of deal,” he asked.

“One story per stop,” said Nick. “And another after we’re all out safely. There are three locations we need to visit, so I’m willing to promise you a minimum of four.”

“Four,” Jon murmured under his breath. “Good lord. How are you still alive?”

“Because nothing has ever wanted to kill me as badly as I want to survive,” Nick answered. He knew he was being compelled, but the words felt fierce between his teeth. It felt good to have that strength uncovered. “Do you need proof that I’m good for it?”

Jon hesitated. “People do tend to find the experience draining. Perhaps your ‘companions’ could help split the difference. They certainly have it to barter.”

“Leave them out of this,” Nick snapped. “They’re under my protection. If you so much as think about them too hard, I’ll show you what it looks like when I intentionally kidnap someone.”

“Alright,” Jon said placatingly. “Just trying to be transparent. I don’t suppose I have much of a choice in this deal of yours?”

“There’s always a choice, Archivist,” said Nick.

Jon made a face as though he’d heard that phrase one too many times. “That’s nice. I mean, _could_ you send me back, if I did ask? Is that something you’re capable of? I don’t mean to be condescending, I literally have no idea .”

Nick kept his austere composure with no small amount of effort. “Neither do I.”

Jon rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Do you at least have a phone I could use?”

“Oh,” said Nick, deflating somewhat. “Uh, sure. Does this mean you’re-”

“I’ll help,” said Jon. “I’m just not keen on being trapped here once it’s over with. There won’t be anyone in the Archive to call for several hours yet. Fortunately for both of us, this is easily the most productive thing I have to do until then. Four statements in exchange for everything you need from the not-America shopping complex.”

Nick grinned and held out his hand. “Great! Good to have you on board.”

Jon looked genuinely startled by this development. He shook Nick’s hand anyway.


	2. Thank You For Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysterious goods are procured from a dark and sinister fabric store. Jon is really good at making friends. Just, the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, there are no Joanns in the UK, but there is one single store in the Netherlands. Having them go to Michaels would have been too easy of a joke.

The walk to the Arcade was longer than it should have been. Row after row of empty parking spots disappeared past them into the night, and still the building only seemed to get larger rather than closer. As he followed Nick across the asphalt in his quickly degrading socks, Jon berated himself for thinking that his kidnappability was at all diminished by becoming the Archivist. Or for thinking he would he any better at fighting back.

Not that there was much to fight back against. These people didn’t have any intention of hurting him, no matter how dangerous they were. He knew better than to assume that Nick and Morgan were harmless just because they’d been civil, and Static Man triggered several fear responses that were so deeply, animally human that Jon was surprised he still had them. All three of them seemed more frightened of him than he was of them.

Jon couldn’t help but enjoy that a little.

“You never answered my question,” he said. “What exactly are we heading towards?”

“The Arcade is the shopping mall to end all shopping malls,” explained Nick. “Anything you could ever want to buy, in this plane or any other, you can find it here. If you can find your way around, you come out the other side with whatever your heart desires. Provided you can pay for it.”

Jon squinted into the neon sign. “This place doesn’t really exist, does it?”

“It’s right in front of us,” said Morgan. “I don’t know what more you want.”

“No, I understand that,” Jon said quickly, “I- I’ve been to places that don’t exist, before. It’s just not a thing that exists in the real world, is what I’m saying.”

“Some would say this world is more ‘real’ than the one you’re referring to,” said Nick.

Jon laughed bitterly. “I’m sure. Is that what this is, then? Some pilgrimage to your almighty shopping complex to get a taste of reality?”

“Actually, you kind of hit it on the head earlier,” said Nick. He sounded almost sheepish. “It’s just a shopping trip. An extremely dangerous shopping trip. We’ve tried to find these reagents somewhere else, but all of our research points back here. As for tasting reality, we’re more at the stage where we’re googling crockpot recipes for it.”

“Maybe _he_ is,” said Morgan, jerking her head dismissively towards Nick, “The last time I took a bite of reality, it tasted like a dead-end service job.”

Jon heard a sound like crinkling plastic that it took him a second to process as Static Man not managing to stifle a laugh. “You don’t want to know what my reality tastes like,” he said. “Lotta connective tissue.”

Jon was genuinely a little surprised that Static Man could talk. His voice was low and distorted, like a parody of a monster, and Jon could hear the sound of some lighter cadence being concealed underneath.

Whatever he had been expecting from his fourth kidnapping, this wasn’t it.

They finally approached the glass face of the Arcade. The structure was massive, each door standing easily twenty feet tall. The sign cast a stark green glow over the entrance. It was so bright at this distance that it hurt to look at directly. The doors opened with a mechanical _whoosh_ , releasing a blast of air-conditioned atmosphere into the night. Jon hadn’t noticed that the air was muggy until just then. Perhaps it wasn’t, he thought, and the inside of the Arcade was just that much colder.

Inside was a wide hallway lined on each side with storefronts. Some were small, barely large enough to fit a counter and one person behind it, but others were the size of houses, with brightly-lit glass displays that promised untold wonders inside. The hallway was tiled with a spotless blue linoleum, and lit only by the neon and fluorescent glow of the stores themselves. It stretched impossibly far into the distance, curving ever so slightly so as to not actually appear infinite. Up ahead were at least two identical cross-paths. In the distance, a few vaguely humanoid figures crossed the main hallway.

“Time to get started,” said Nick. “We need to visit a craft store for frog leather and spider silk; a pet store, for a pet rock; and a tailor that can custom fit leather.”

Up until this point, Jon had been willing to accept everything that was happening at face value. Endless buildings, elaborate rituals, monsters made of static and teeth- these were all things that roughly existed within what he thought of as his wheelhouse. This specific combination was a little unlikely, but no singular thing had stuck out as being “too much.” Not until this shopping list. Nick rattled it off with the rugged confidence of a football coach, despite the fact that it sounded to Jon like something out of a Beatrix Potter picture book. Jon opened his mouth to voice some kind of protest, or maybe just ask a few clarifying questions, but closed it again. Instead, he examined the eager, expectant look on Nick’s face. He tried to remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. He tried not to think too hard about who it had been.

“...the craft store is closest,” he said after a solid ten seconds of deliberation. “This way.”

As he led them into the Arcade, he caught Nick shooting the other two a furtive thumbs-up behind his back. If this was a joke, or a trap, or a product of his sleep-deprived brain, Jon decided that he might as well get it over with as quickly as he could.

“So, what’s with the tape recorder?” asked Nick, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I take it it’s something to do with archiving?”

“I’m honestly not sure, myself,” Jon admitted. “They turn up on their own when something needs to be recorded. Yours?”

“It’s for Static Man,” said Nick. He winced, as though that was something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

“Dude!” Static Man protested. The bass-boosted undercurrent to his voice dropped away to reveal one that sounded almost entirely different. He cleared his throat with a sound like a garbage disposal, bringing the monster voice back. “I mean- insolent fool!”

“Sorry,” said Jon. “Didn’t think it was that personal.”

“But, uh, I get what you mean,” Nick continued. “About things needing to be recorded. For a while, I had someone listening on the other end of mine.”

Jon wasn’t sure if that detail was evidence of this being a complex hallucination or an actual real thing happening. “Really?” he said, suddenly interested either way. “That’s one of my working theories. I haven’t quite sorted out who it’s meant to be.”

“Mine was pretty helpful,” said Nick. “I gave him a lift back to his apartment after he helped me escape being possessed by an evil wizard.”

Jon frowned.

“What?” asked Nick.

“Nothing,” said Jon, “That’s just apparently a more common problem than I gave it credit for.”

It didn’t take Jon very long to get the hang of the layout. The hallways looped around and into each other like a giant celtic knot rather than a simple grid. It reminded him of Helen’s corridors, though mercifully it didn’t give him the same headache. This would have made it difficult to navigate in theory, but in practice all it meant was that Jon could pick out shortcut after shortcut that brought them closer to their destination. Once or twice, a new pathway actually opened up in front of them as Jon was watching.

This was all very convenient until the craft store disappeared.

Jon came to a halt in the middle of a crossroads, blinking rapidly to clear his head. “Hang on,” he muttered, “It’s moved.”

“Moved?” rumbled Static Man. “It’s a Michaels, not the goddamn Baba Yaga. What do you mean, it moved?”

“Everything’s moving in this place,” said Jon. He frowned, reaching out into the mall for the store again. It wasn’t hard to find; he just hadn’t expected to have to find it a second time. “And it’s a Joann’s, not Michaels. Here, it’s not much farther.”

A few minutes later, Jon stopped in front of what appeared to be an ancient ruin overgrown with plants. The building was made from crumbling stone, and a thick curtain of vines hung over the empty doorway.

“Is there a problem?” asked Nick.

“No?” said Jon, confused. “This is the craft store.”

Nick examined the building critically. “You’re sure?”

“You’re here to buy frog leather,” said Jon, “How is this any more ridiculous than anything you’ve thrown at me?”

As he said this, a figure emerged from the vine curtain toting a large, white bag with the Joann logo on the side. She looked human enough that Jon almost didn’t notice when she smiled politely at them that she had a thick strip of baleen instead of teeth. She disappeared into the Arcade towards the distant promise of a food court. Jon crossed his arms smugly.

The interior wasn’t in much better shape than the front. Several of the lights were burnt out, and a few more were flickering ominously. The sound of dripping water mixed with pop music being churned out from fuzzed, tinny speakers. Although some of the shelves were half-collapsed, the stacks upon stacks of craft supplies piled onto them looked completely intact. Jon still didn’t trust the little display of candies half-buried in a bed of moss by the entrance. There weren’t any other customers inside, but several clerks lounged by the checkout counter, chatting idly. None of them made a move to intercept the group as they saw them enter.

“Fifth row on the right, about halfway down the aisle,” Jon said immediately, leaning over to Nick. “I’m not sure about the silk, it looks… not right?” He’d gotten a fairly clear picture of what Nick was looking for when he read off the shopping list, but not of what he was planning to do with it. All he could tell was that the stuff in this store didn’t match up with the image in his head.

Nick nodded. “We’ll see. Static Man, why don’t you check that out. Morgan-”

“Way ahead of you.” Morgan was already wandering deeper into the store.

“It’s for a personal project,” said Nick before Jon could ask.

Jon gave him a sharp smile. “And, as such, none of my business?”

“Just trying to be transparent,” said Nick. He returned a very similar smile, and headed off to follow Jon’s directions.

Jon turned to face Static Man. It was really astounding how he managed to look both hulking and sleek at the same time, like the concept of a great white shark compressed into a human silhouette. Jon resisted the urge to lean away.

“Uhhh,” he said, “You’ll want aisle three, it’s sort of tucked behind the-”

“Take me to it,” Static Man hissed. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”

Jon took a loud sip of his tea, which was by this point quite cold. “...right,” he said. He led the way through the store, stepping carefully over several large vines criss-crossing the aisles.

“You know, I can’t decide which one of you is the odd one out,” he commented. Somehow, the awkward silence was the least comfortable part of being alone with Static Man. “Nicholas has more experience than you or Morgan, but he’s not nearly as specialized. Even with that, Morgan’s done a much better job of keeping her hands clean compared to you two. And you...”

“What _about_ me?” said Static Man. His tone dared Jon to make some comment about his roiling teeth, or the nebulous, shifting haze that would otherwise have been his skin.

“Well, you’re a finance major,” Jon said casually. “Doesn’t really line up with music and literature.”

Static Man was silent for a moment as Jon rifled through the shelves for the silk. Jon could taste the revulsion at the edge of his thoughts, but also curiosity. Why that particular detail, parsed like smalltalk at a house party? Was Jon trying to get him off guard?

In all honesty, Jon was just trying to distract himself from the millions of questions he was collecting about this whole thing. Especially about Static Man. He was the first “monster” that Jon had met who didn’t know enough about the Eye to keep it out. As a result, Jon could get a good long look at the very human person underneath. Jon would have thought ‘the person he used to be,’ but as far as he could tell, Static Man was in every way still that person. Here was someone with an unintelligibly inhuman body whose mind was untouched by whatever had made him that way. Jon was almost envious. Almost.

“Stay out of my head,” Static Man growled. “If Nick’s not enough to keep you in line, I’m under my own protection, too. We don’t need you in one piece to get out of this place.”

“I know a lot of things about you that aren’t in your head,” said Jon, “You’re welcome to ask your own questions if you want to even the playing field.”

“Unless you can figure out how to rip off arms that I don’t have, I don’t think you and me are ever gonna have an even playing field,” said Static Man.

So much for smalltalk.

Jon gathered a few patches of soft white fabric, a cluster of silk twine that looked like it was meant to be knitted into something, and droopy length of embroidery thread. Holding them all in his hands, he was sure that none of them were going to work. He turned towards the front of the store with the intention of explaining this to Nick, only to see Morgan poke her head out into the end of the aisle.

“Static Man, I need you to take a look at some bones,” she said. She held up a pair of femurs, one of which was pale blue and covered in a paisley design.

“Now?” said Static Man.

“You do want bones, right?” asked Morgan mildly. “I showed you some schematics without them, and I think your exact words were ‘Oh shit, what the fuck, Morgan, no, absolutely not, Christ I’m going to have nightmares til the day I die.’” She unleashed this diatribe with an utterly uninterested tone, as though reading from a grocery list.

“Let me take him back to Nick first,” said Static Man, sounding more than a little embarrassed.

“He’s not going to wander off,” said Morgan. This was apparently directed at both of them, as her eyes were fixed on Jon when she spoke. The icy tone in her voice made him think that doing anything to prove her wrong might be a bad idea.

Jon made his way alone towards the front of the store only to hear an argument from the opposite side.

“...not what I came here for,” said Nick. His voice was tight with barely contained threats. “I agreed to the price of the leather. You can’t make me buy anything I don’t want to.”

“Recompense,” something whispered back at him. “We are owed a purchase.”

“You will have a purchase,” said Nick. “My associates are coming with one more item, and then we’ll be on our way.” Jon rounded an aisle to see him cornered by three of the clerks holding products that they were apparently trying to sell to him. They looked strangely skeletal up close, their bodies misshapen with moss that ate at the edges of their aprons. Their faces were obscured by thick fops of yarn, and Jon could just barely see “skin” underneath in patterns and textures that matched the fabric on the shelves behind them.

Nick looked relieved to have company. “Did you get it?” he asked Jon. The clerks turned to look at the new arrival without moving their bodies.

“More or less,” said Jon. “I told you it wouldn’t be right.” He held up the items for inspection, and was rewarded by a disappointed frown.

“Hmm. Let’s find Morgan and-”

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The clerks spoke in unison, the words cascading from several directions at once. Jon whirled around to see another figure perched on the shelf behind Nick, and several more at each end of the aisle. He carefully set the spider silk items down on a nearby shelf. This only provoked a few angry burbles from the clerk closest to them.

“Projectsssss,” one of them muttered, “We can help you with projects!”

“We have so many plans for you,” another one cooed.

“That is the last of our skin,” said a third. It picked at a large bundle of leather that Nick was holding, which Nick clutched closer to himself. “We need more. Perhaps you have some to sell?”

Once the first one touched Nick, the rest took it as an open invitation. They started to rush in, the closest one making a lunge for Nick’s throat. One of them closed a hand around Nick’s arm, drawing a pained cry from him.

“Wait, _wait_ ,” Jon yelped, grabbing the one next to him, “What would the manager think?”

Every clerk froze in place where they were. The one attacking Nick actually teetered over and fell onto the floor mid-jump. Their eyes all locked on Jon, which normally he would have thought incredibly frightening.

Now, though, it just meant that he had them trapped.

“She issss gone,” one of them murmured.

“Leffffft us,” whispered another one.

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Jon, “She would never! No, she’s still here, with all of you. Don’t you know what happened to her?” He could feel each and every one of them being drawn in, concerned for the fate of their boss, but also apprehensive that their actions wouldn't go unobserved by a higher power. It was a very particular kind of fear suited for the Eye, not just something secondhand like he was used to. Jon couldn’t have hand-picked one that was sweeter. He hadn't actually been sure he'd be able to hold on to this many at once, and maybe that was why.

He was dimly aware of Nicholas edging towards the end of the aisle as he recounted the fate of the manager, who had disappeared several years ago under extremely mysterious circumstances. He was also aware when Nick hesitated just barely within earshot, trying to catch the end of the story instead of making a clean escape. Eventually, Morgan appeared to pull him to safety. By the time Jon was finished, the clerks lay prone on the ground, weeping or clutching each other for solace, but a dozen or so more had joined the edge of the circle. Jon staggered back up against a shelf. He tried to speak, to say something even without the bite of the Eye behind it. It felt as though he’d just used up every word he knew. The circle closed in tighter.

Jon blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was surrounded by a fog of brackish green liquid and a sound like wet paper in a blender. The mist settled to reveal Static Man at the end of the aisle. Very suddenly, Nick was there helping him catch his footing.

“Given the circumstances," said Nick, dragging him towards the door, "I think it's appropriate to discuss payment for the extended services you've offered today." As he spoke, Static Man spotted a clerk advancing on them and tackled it, disappearing in another cloud of plant viscera.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" Jon slurred.


	3. Specialty Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are you supposed to find spider products at this time of night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeezy creezy this got so much longer than I intended  
> oh god I'm so sorry

“So, that went well,” said Morgan. The party was huddled around a picnic table in the food court with two trays of what were allegedly carne asada potatoes between them. Jon snapped to attention, having been trying to figure out why a table at an indoor mall had a plastic umbrella over it.

“Just to be clear,” said Jon, “Is it not unusual that you killed about half the staff on your way out?”

“This is a team operation, Archivist. _We_ killed half the staff on our way out,” said Nick.

“Some of them got in my mouth,” Jon said quietly.

“ _Your_ mouth? You do _not_ get to complain about that,” said Static Man. Jon was startled to hear his unfiltered voice, bright and charming even when pretending to be irritated and while talking about eating several people alive. “I think I saw the world’s tiniest violin a couple stores ago, lemme go get that for you.”

“The point is,” Nick cut in, “That we got everything we came in for.” It turned out that Nick and Morgan had managed to buy everything at the front register while Jon and Static Man kept the attendants busy. Each of them now toted a heavy-looking white bag for their trouble.

“With interest,” said Morgan, hefting hers above her head. “I got something you boys will like. If you could give us a minute, Archivist?”

Jon nodded. “Of course. I think I need to sit down a while longer anyway.”

“Gimme a sec, I want to get at these fries before they get cold,” Static Man called after Nick and Morgan as they retreated out of earshot. He scooted over so that he was sitting directly across from Jon, and looked around conspiratorially as though worried that someone might notice.

“Something to wash the taste out?” Jon said wryly.

“Hilarious. Hey, listen,” said Static Man, “Thanks for saving Nick, back there. He’s a really good friend. He can take care of himself in a tight spot, but it’s nice knowing he doesn’t have to.”

He’d shifted his tone so quickly that it took Jon a second to formulate a response. “Of- Of course! I don’t-”

“No, not of course,” Static Man said firmly. “That’s not how this works. You don’t owe us shit. You didn’t have to save him, but you did. So, y’know. Thanks. That makes you, like, the second-nicest horrifying monster we’ve had on the team.”

Jon laughed, and it felt so sudden and genuine that it almost hurt. “I take it the nicest horrifying monster is you?”

“Oh, totally,” said Static Man. There was a grin in his voice that didn’t quite make it through the alien features of his face. “I’m awesome. I know I was kind of a dick earlier, but now that you’re cool, I’m gonna be double awesome to make up for it. Promise.”

“I… thanks?” Jon stammered. Both the prospect of himself being cool and of Static Man becoming “double awesome” frightened Jon more than anything Static Man had done so far that day. Static Man didn’t seem to notice or care. He grabbed one of the styrofoam containers and carried it over to where Nick and Morgan were arguing over a parchment scroll.

Since there wasn’t a seat back for Jon to lean on, he settled for crossing his arms on the table and resting his head there. Like most uses of his powers, the fight had been as exhausting as it was satisfying. His head was so fuzzy that they could probably have gotten away with having their conversation right in front of him and he wouldn’t have heard a thing. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Nick broke off and sat down across from him, saying something that he didn’t quite process.

“Sorry?” Jon said groggily, lifting his head.

“I uh, said you look tired,” said Nick with a sympathetic little laugh.

“Mmmh,” Jon muttered. He rested his chin on his arms. “Whole thing’s inefficient.”

“What is?” asked Nick. Jon waved a hand vaguely over his face, which was now scrunched into a dissatisfied little frown.

“Takes all this energy to… to feed, I dunno,” said Jon. “Like how foxes spend all day hunting. Then, once you find something, it’s like eating pasta for every meal. Some kind of… pasta fox.” Sleepy ramblings aside, it felt strange to be talking about his eating habits out loud, let alone to someone he didn’t know.

“Do you feed on stories?” Nick asked breathlessly.

It occurred to Jon that, from the moment he’d appeared in that parking lot, Nick hadn’t expected him to act like a person. None of them had. They hadn’t even thought to ask if he had a name. While he was here, all he had to be was the Archivist. More than that, he was the one who got to decide what that meant.

“Chips as well,” said Jon. He picked out a cluster of potatoes that looked marginally less cheesy than the rest. "It's more complex than that. The thing that I… am, that I'm part of, it feeds on fear. Fear of being watched, being known."

He felt more awake now that Nick was there talking to him. When their eyes met, he was reminded of another facet of the Ceaseless Watcher. Nick was overflowing with questions, and would do most anything to pursue them. Something dark and hungry within Jon wanted to give him answers that would put white streaks in his hair to match his own.

“So, not just any story,” Nick concluded. “Scary stories.”

“That’s an easy way to understand it, I suppose,” said Jon.

"Back there, what you did to those clerks," said Nick, "Is that going to happen to me?" His voice was all business. Jon was amazed to find that he was still more curious than frightened.

"No, no," Jon said quickly, "Nothing like that. I won't try to tell you it's pleasant, but it's not dangerous in any traditional sense. Not that I’m aware of."

Nick nodded. “Alright. Are you feeling up to one now? We need to get moving soon, and I get the feeling we should pace these out, for both our sakes.”

“Great! That would be immensely helpful, actually.” Jon struggled not to sound too excited. He sat up and studied the space behind Nick’s eyes. “Tell me about-”

No. No, not that one. He hadn’t even mentioned it, and already Nick was worried that he’d have to share it. It was by far the best one he had, the one most full of fear and, more importantly, the one that would hurt most to be taken. Even at a glance, it was like looking at a Christmas window display from outside on a dark, frigid night. Maybe he wouldn’t have hesitated if that was all that he saw. Nick's curiosity was something that Jon recognized in himself, but which he was far more familiar with in others. In Sasha. In Basira. In… Well. Others.

“The phone booth,” he said instead. “I think the phone booth will do.”

“One more thing,” Nick said hastily. “I wasn’t kidding about the extra payment. You saved my life back there, and I do owe you something in exchange.”

“I really don’t think…” Jon started to say, eager to get to Nick’s statement. Something tugged at the back of his mind. “Actually. No, there is one thing you could do for me.”

* * *

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his new shoes as they regarded the storefront that was their next stop. The shoes fit surprisingly well; it was the rest of the situation that was making his skin crawl. To Jon’s dismay, the fact that the only shoes Nick could get ahold of for him were a pair of neon blue sneakers was not the worst thing currently happening to him.

“Look, I can't let you wait outside,” Nick said patiently, “This won't be like the last place. We’re going in prepared. I checked the Yelp reviews, this place should be completely harmless.” 45 minutes after leaving the food court, they were standing outside of their next stop, where Jon assured them they could get spider silk.

“You can’t just say these things like they make sense,” Jon spluttered. “What, did you find a review that said ‘5 stars, didn’t try to murder and flay us’? Why on Earth would there be a Yelp page for- for _this_?” 

“If it disappears while we’re inside, then so do you,” said Nick, ignoring his question. “We can’t split up.”

“I got your back, big guy,” said Static Man. “No one catches us off guard twice. What’s the big deal, you scared of spiders?”

Jon was having a harder and harder time tearing his eyes off the sign. The words ‘Spider Empire’ were tucked behind a spider mascot animated in neon. Its legs wiggled jauntily back and forth, and its eyes seemed to be locked directly on Jon over a smug cartoon smile.

“Everyone says that like I shouldn’t be,” Jon said miserably. "I don't know what things are like in fantasy not-America, but where I'm from, spiders are... a problem. This?” He pointed up at the sign, “This, right here? This sort of thing is the beginning of a story that ends in three very gruesome deaths and one traumatized survivor slowly transforming into a spider mutant."

“And as long as we’re not in that death count, I can live with that,” said Nick.

“That does leave the spider thing,” Morgan commented, “One-two-three, not it.”

Nick and Static man chimed in obligingly. “Oof, sorry man,” said Static Man to Jon, “Looks like it’s gonna be you.”

“I should be so lucky,” Jon sighed. Nick held the door open for him, and he reluctantly led the charge inside.

The interior was disturbingly normal. It looked like an overpriced co-op Jon had stumbled into once, the kind that had wicker baskets hanging from the aisles and little sachets of "all-natural" snacks that looked like color-desaturated facsimiles of popular brands. There was the usual bulk aisle populated with nondescript plastic vats, but the produce section was replaced with low tables bearing handmade trinkets and articles of clothing. The smell of something frying in oil and garlic wafted from a deli counter at the back of the store.

Just as Jon was starting to consider the possibility that this might not be so bad, he was struck with the knowledge that absolutely every item for sale in the store was made from spiders.

“Hi there!” A man with long hair pulled back in a bun appeared from one of the aisles. He had a basket under one arm filled with chubby packages of chocolate peanut butter cups, which Jon could not stop staring at for long enough to absorb any additional details about him. “Can I help you guys find anything?”

“Yes, we’re looking for spider silk?” said Nick.

“Sure,” the man said pleasantly. “Right over by the yarn, aisle 3. Anything else?”

“Are those dark chocolate?” asked Static Man, indicating the basket.

“Do not buy those,” Jon interrupted. His voice was trembling with abject horror.

“They sure are,” said the sales clerk at the same time. “All of our ingredients are sourced from fair-trade suppliers, too. I can break one open if you want to try a sample.”

"What are the ingredients, Reginald?" Jon demanded.

Reginald smiled broadly. "Please. Call me Redgy. Everything is listed right on the package, no tricks. These ones are gluten-free!"

"Gross," said Static Man, "Yeah, gimme one."

Jon was about to argue further when someone tapped him on the shoulder. A woman with several piercings took a polite half-step back and waved at him. "Hi there! Do you have any questions?"

She greeted him with exactly the same cadence as the ponytailed man. "So very many," Jon said with a mirthless smile, "But I'm with this lot. We are already being helped, thank you."

"They'll find what they need," said the pierced woman, "I meant you, Archivist."

Jon noticed with an oddly dizzy sensation that he did not know her name. He turned back to tell the others that something was wrong - that Redgy hadn't answered his question, and this person knew things he did not - but Nick and Static Man were quickly disappearing down the yarn aisle, and Morgan was nowhere to be found.

"What do you want?" asked Jon, rounding on the woman as aggressively as he could manage.

She already had her hands up in a placating sort of way. "Take it easy," she said, "I'm here to help. You’re a long way from home."

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” said Jon.

“The Arcade’s ‘business’ is getting people what they need,” the woman replied. “You need a way back. Don’t you?”

Jon cast about him for escape routes. The pierced woman was between him and the exit, but he could theoretically reach Nick and Static man. He wasn’t sure he trusted that he knew where they were, anymore. 

“Not… presently,” he said carefully. “I'm busy.”

The pierced woman cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like Archive business. Looks like a hell of a long lunch break.”

“You didn't seem much inclined to interfere the last time I left my post," said Jon.

"That was work," the woman said patiently, "That was planned. Orchestrated. By you, even, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't," said Jon. "So, I'm to believe that this isn't some strand of the Web, after all? You're here, aren't you? Clearly you're not powerless in this place."

The woman's lips glinted when she smiled. "Neither are you. The rules are different, here. This territory works very hard not to be claimed, which makes certain factors difficult to control. In particular, the people who took you are… Unpredictable. We need you in one piece, Archivist, and eventually we need you back at the Archive. Neither of those is something we can guarantee with you being dragged around by your merry band of kidnappers."

"You're afraid of them," Jon said eagerly.

The woman shrugged. "Only makes sense. You're not telling me you trust them?"

Jon hadn't considered it. They didn't trust him, or at least they hadn't when he arrived. Clearly they had an agenda outside of what they'd told him. Whether or not it involved him was almost unimportant, as his presence made him complicit in it anyway.

Even as the idea started to crystallize in his mind, Jon knew that the conclusion she was trying to lead him towards simply wasn’t true. He trusted them in a way that was almost instinctive, the way he trusted stray cats to stop and be pet, or to keep their distance, but never to approach and attack.

"We made a deal," was the closest way he could express the feeling. The pretense Nick had put around it, that he continued to surround them with, made it feel more important than that. Definitely more important than it would have back home.

"And they've changed the terms once already," the woman said dismissively. "Shopping on the side, detours- they even ignored your warnings about this place. Which, good catch, by the way. They aren't just unpredictable. They're unreliable."

"And I'm meant to trust you, instead?" asked Jon. "You. Really."

"We're on the same side, Archivist," said the woman. The thing that confused Jon the most, really, was how genuinely she seemed to believe it. "I honestly do want to get you home safe. That's all."

"Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable, because you'll just have to wait until I'm done here," Jon argued.

“I’ll wait as long as necessary,” said the woman. “But are you sure you can afford to?”

They were very near the back of the store, and while Jon did not know when that had happened, he understood how perfectly well. The pierced woman must have been backing him towards it the whole time they were talking, Jon thought. There were no other directions but back towards the warehouse section, or forwards towards her. Every part of her looked sharper the longer he stared, desperate for some weakness, some opening he could slip past.

“Don’t you have someone waiting for you back home?” she insisted. “How long do you think he can wait? What if he’s looking for you right now?”

Jon could feel the plastic curtain at his back between him and the warehouse. Something brushed against it - a hand, maybe, or a passing body. It couldn’t be Martin, it couldn’t possibly, but it was maddening to have the idea dangled in front of him. Even more infuriating was that he couldn’t see who it was. If he just turned around, he’d be able to see.

He screwed his eyes shut. As soon as he did, there was a noise from the other end of the aisle that Jon would later describe as not unlike a swarm of bees trying to play a viola inside of a very large drum. The pierced woman yelped, not injured but clearly scared that she would be. Jon discovered why when he opened his eyes again. The shelf to his left had a gash of singed wood and molten plastic cut clean through the middle of it. 

"Oops," said Morgan. An instrument that looked like a cross between a ukulele and a crossbow was cradled in her arms, smoldering slightly. Her hand rested on a small crank at the bottom. "Must’ve left the safety off. Was she bothering you?"

Jon barreled past the cowering pierced woman towards her. "We need to leave. Where are the others?"

"They're fine," Morgan assured him, keeping pace as he raced to the front of the store. "Nick just wanted me to keep an eye on you. Looks like he was right."

"I wasn’t going to leave you here," Jon snapped.

Morgan smirked. "That’s not why."

Jon slowed to a halt, rounding a corner to see Nick and Static Man chatting by the front counter. Nick gestured with a long, thin spool of thread as he spoke. Static Man was halfway through a bag of chocolate-covered spider cups.

Nick shared a conspiratorial nod with Morgan before turning to Jon. “Ready to go?”

“Now,” Jon agreed.

He refused to look back as they left.

They walked in silence, which Jon was learning was uncharacteristic for at least Static Man, if not Nick and Morgan. His mind drifted towards their conspiratorial muttering, their clandestine meetings and their careful, pointed answers. As soon as the store had disappeared from view, Nick took a deep breath in and out.

“Okay,” he said, “Did yours try to talk you into a sketchy deal that would have screwed us over for something you wanted?”

“My… what?” Jon said slowly. “Yes. Why?”

“Us too,” said Nick. “They offered me something to ‘protect myself’ from you. I suspect it would have stranded us out here the second we left your sight. I owe you a very serious apology, that was… excruciating. Are you okay?”

Every shred of paranoia blossoming in Jon’s mind withered away. It made his chest hurt to think of the last time someone had asked him that. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be alright. I- thank you, both of you.”

Nick frowned. “I mean, we weren't going to leave you alone in there. I felt bad enough dragging you in, you looked pretty shaken.”

Morgan plucked a string on her crossbow ukulele. “Full disclosure, I did kinda want to see you turn into a spider monster.”

“Place was weird, dude,” Static Man chimed in.

Jon pointed to the ‘peanut butter’ cups. “You do realize those are full of spiders,” he could no longer restrain himself from saying.

Static Man paused before popping another one in his mouth. It crunched unpleasantly. “Eh. Not the worst thing I’ve eaten today.”


	4. Sympathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are back on track, mostly. This does very little to make Jon's situation less complicated.

It was surprisingly easy to find a pet shop in the Arcade. The difficult part was finding the one they were looking for. Almost as soon as they’d left Spider Empire, they turned a corner to find a neat looking storefront with a sign that read Petland over the door. Nick headed straight for the entrance, but stopped when he heard Jon make an uncertain noise behind him.

“Not that one,” said Jon.

“Is it dangerous?” Nick asked. He took a preemptive step back from the store.

“Well, since none of you are allergic to cats, not especially,” said Jon, “But it won't have what you need.”

“Of course not,” Nick sighed. “Alright. Lead the way.”

They continued to wind through the halls of the Arcade apparently at random. Jon paused every now and then to get his bearings as the layout of the place changed, once or twice turning around completely with a frustrated little scowl. The longer they walked, the more pet stores they passed. Fish ‘n More had a tank that spanned the front of the store, and which, upon closer inspection, seemed to make up the entire interior as well. Static Man insisted that they stop at Too Many Legs to admire several six-legged golden retriever puppies pawing at the window. There was one store that had a gaudy assortment of crystals, medieval weapons, and gold coins littering the front display, under a sign that read DRAGONS! in a friendly cartoon font. To everyone’s dismay, it was closed.

“Should we be worried about this?” prompted Morgan as they passed a store labeled One Big Snake. “Maybe it’s trying to throw us off.”

“No, this is good,” Nick said. “I think it’s more like targeted advertising. We’ve already made a couple purchases, so the Arcade knows we’re not here to cause trouble. If it’s overheard what we’re looking for, it could be trying to help.”

“Boy, it sure is important that we get a frappucino for this ritual, huh Nicholas?” Static Man added loudly. A couple of turns later, a cozy-looking Starbucks appeared on their right.

“Considering the fact that it moved a whole city block to get here, I’d say that’s a pretty sound theory,” said Jon. “Mind you, that added a substantial detour to our walk.”

“Relaaax, drinks on me,” said Static Man, leading them inside.

“Do I want to know where you got money from?” Nick asked doubtfully. “Or where you’re keeping it?”

“It’s cool, Starbucks usually takes teeth,” said Static Man. “So, y’know. Ka-ching! Pop ‘em right out like a pez dispenser.” To demonstrate, he rummaged around in his face and pulled out a tooth with a small _click_. He held it out to Jon, who wished for the second time in his life that his career involved fewer people trying to hand him teeth.

Nick cornered Jon as they were waiting for their coffees. “Round two?” he suggested. Jon could taste the start of his statement already, a treacherous door and a maddening landscape behind it.

“You sound like you’re enjoying these as much as I am,” said Jon, settling in at one of the rickety tables.

Nick gave a short laugh as he sat across from him, then another more uncomfortable one as he mulled this over. “It’s weird, it almost feels familiar. You… feel familiar. Is that normal?”

“It’s certainly not good,” said Jon. “I don’t think it’s me so much as the Eye. You’ve probably stumbled across it before. I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t been caught up in one of the Fears by now. Mine in particular would be too easy for you to fall into, I think.”

Jon was struck with the sharp, warm sensation of being realized. He could feel Nick starting to put together that his rumpled blazer and secondhand mug weren’t just an affectation to make his supernatural nature seem human. That, if anything, the opposite was closer to the truth. Nick wanted to ask him how it had happened; whether it had crept up on him slowly, or if it was something he’d done to himself. Jon didn’t quite know how to explain that it had been both.

“So there’s more of these things,” Nick asked instead.

“Each one more terrible than the last,” said Jon. “That place belonged to one of them. I told you, spiders are a problem where I’m from.”

“And they’re all, what, fighting each other? Working together?” Nick pressed.

Jon laughed mirthlessly. “Depends on the person. Some of us are almost palatable. Others will tear your skin off just to say hello.”

Nick went very still for a moment. He seemed to come to some conclusion as to which kind Jon was. Jon was very aware of his eyes shifting across his scars. “Do you need help?” Nick asked gently.

“Probably.” Jon followed the statement with a very tired smile. “I can’t have it too bad if I’ve survived this long.”

“I mean it,” said Nick, “I don’t know if you’re trapped, or being blackmailed, or what, but whatever it is, I’m sure we can help. That’s kind of what we do.”

Jon didn’t need to look up at Morgan and Static Man to know what he was being offered. He wondered how many other people Nick had spirited away like this, with promises of freedom or adventure or just plain companionship. It didn’t take much effort for him to picture a scenario where he would have said yes. It wasn’t even too different from his current one.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really, I- You have no idea how many of my problems that would solve. But I have people I need to get back to. There’s someone I’d very much like to see again.”

Nick nodded. “I understand. Still, we’ve got two more stops- offer’s on the table if you change your mind.”

The Arcade had shifted again by the time they left, and Jon led them back in the direction they came from. To no one’s surprise, the shops had all changed as well, though they maintained the same ratio of pet stores.

“If this place is so intent on bringing you what you want,” said Jon, sloshing his macchiato around the flower mug. “That does raise the question of why you actually need me. I’m sure it would figure out where you need to go eventually.”

“Intent is what I’m worried about,” said Nick. “We haven’t had the best track record with sentient landscapes. And ‘eventually’ could take years. We did our research. Plenty of people come to shop in the Arcade. Not a lot of them get back out.”

“After we heard that this place would have what we needed, the first thing we did was try and figure out why so many people went missing,” Morgan chimed in. “I thought people were dying of starvation, but there’s no shortage of resources. None of the survivors talked about roving monsters, or rules you have to stick to to avoid being punished. By all accounts, it’s just an infinite maze of stores.”

“Maze being the operative word,” Jon realized aloud.

“It’s dead simple, when you think about it,” Morgan continued after a sip of her coffee. “It’ll bring you anything you could ask for in a shopping mall, except an exit.”

Jon stopped to concentrate on the layout in a moment of panic. “But it does _have_ an exit. I know where it is.”

“And that’s why you’re rolling with the cool kids,” said Static Man, shooting Jon a finger-gun with his free, un-frappuccino’d hand. “The shops will come to us. We just need you to get us out of here when it’s time to leave. Plus, we can give you a makeover on the way out, right Nick?”

“That’s between you two,” said Nick. “Assuming we can find a JC Penny that accepts teeth. How close are we to this place?”

Jon turned to face the other side of the Arcade hall. “Here, actually,” he said. Across from them was a small storefront done up in pastel, with a display painted onto the front window that read Advanced Pets. His head buzzed with little details about the interior, a wash of comfortingly mundane facts. "It looks quite safe."

“Sick. Hey, you think there’s a Beginner’s Pets?” Static Man asked no one in particular as they crossed the hall. “Or maybe Simple Pets.”

“Band name,” Nick said immediately.

“Band na- dammit!” Morgan swore, half a second too late. Nick laughed, pulling out a cheap notebook and adding the phrase “Simple Pets” to a column under his name. There were matching columns for both Morgan and Static Man. Static Man’s was as long as the other two combined. Jon was struck with an image of Tim, Martin, and Sasha gathered in the Archive breakroom, joking about some piece of office drama over lunch. The sound of Sasha kicking her legs off the countertop she was perched on. Tim sitting backwards in a chair, tipping forward so it balanced on two legs, then back down to safety. Martin’s hands gesturing wildly, careless and mesmerizing.

“Everything alright?”

Jon blinked the memory away. Morgan and Static Man had already gone inside, and Nick was waiting for him in the doorway.

“It’s fine,” said Jon.

It was as fine as it was ever going to be.

The interior of the shop was an orderly mosaic of mint green and orange, soothing after the Arcade’s dim lighting. It was laid out more like a book store than a pet shop, with little alcoves lining the room and a few islands down the center aisle with clear plastic walls and no lids. The instrumental break of a motown song played distantly over the speakers. Most of the pets were recognizable; Morgan was hunched in front of a tank full of axolotls, watching them follow her finger as she traced it across the glass. The closest center island was a roomy enclosure of rabbits. Jon could make out guinea pigs and leopard geckos in the islands further back. As he drifted towards a stack of cat cages, he picked out a few specimens that were less familiar. The next alcove over had terrariums full of something that looked like a turtle with incredibly furry limbs. A section of the store towards the back was blocked off with thick velvet curtains, and had a standing sign in front that read _Quiet area! Please do not disturb the ghosts._ The music congealed into Patti LaBelle singing _Danny Boy._

“You folks let me know if you want me to introduce you to anyone,” Jon heard from the middle of the store. He leaned around a metal rack of squeaky toys to see a late middle-aged woman wearing a pair of chunky plastic earrings and a romper that looked like it had been made from a bowling alley carpet. She was lounging against the register countertop, staring openly at Static Man. When he looked up at the sound of her voice, she gave him a coy smirk and pretended to be preoccupied with a ferret that was draped over her shoulders. This seemed to catch him off guard, but he quickly recovered, striking what Jon could only assume was supposed to be a casual pose next to an iguana enclosure. Jon shuddered.

“We’re looking to buy a pet rock,” said Nick.

The shopkeeper glanced between the four of them. When she looked at Jon, he noticed that her name was Nellie. “You all gonna share just the one?” she asked, the hint of a smile lingering in her voice.

“We’re not what you’d call a conventional household,” Nick replied.

Nellie bounced up from the countertop with a laugh. "Thank goodness! Those things give me the heebie-jeebies. What kind of rock are you interested in?”

“What kinds do you have?” Nick asked hesitantly. It seemed like the appropriate thing to say. Nellie led the party to an alcove lined with shelves, each one bearing at least a dozen rocks in all different shapes, sizes, treatments, and colorations. Most of them were wonky river rocks in varying shades of black and gray. A few towards the back of the shelves were glowing faintly. Some seemed quite valuable, including part of an amethyst geode and something that Jon identified as an absolutely massive uncut diamond. There was a little standing desk off to one side littered with googly eyes and Sharpie markers.

“Take a look around, they’re not shy,” said Nellie.

Nick looked between her and the rocks, and plucked a specimen from the nearest shelf. It was large and gray, with pockmarks that made it look volcanic. “I guess, this one?” he said.

“Hmmmm,” said Nellie. She scratched under the ferret’s chin and squinted at Nick suspiciously. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Ok,” said Nick, forcing a patient tone, “Which one would you suggest?”

Nellie shrugged. “It’s not my rock. But I do know a bad match when I see one. Pick one that speaks to you. These fellas are looking for a forever home, just like everyone in the store.” At this, she looked pointedly at Static Man, batting her eyelashes. Static Man did something horrifying with the multitudes of teeth that protruded from his face like shrapnel. Nellie smiled back.

“Right. Little help, guys?” Nick asked, turning to the others.

Jon tilted his head slightly at Nellie with a small, concerned frown. “Do you want me to…?”

Nick looked panicked. “Help me pick one out,” he clarified quickly. “Please.” The four of them went to work inspecting the rocks and presenting them to Nellie, progressively less and less sure of what they were looking for as each offering was dismissed. More accurately, three of them went through this process while Static Man flirted with her. Jon eventually found himself turning the same rock over and over in his hands, listening in idly on their conversation.

“You didn’t have anywhere to be today, right?” Morgan commented, reaching across him for a small black rock that was keening pleasantly.

“That’s a good question,” said Jon, half to himself. His watch - which he’d neglected to take off while he was dozing in the breakroom - read 5:17. Still a couple hours before anyone might notice he was gone. “Does time work the same way, here?”

Morgan made an unworried noise. “Who knows. That’s one hazard we don’t usually worry too much about. One of the perks of not having someplace to get back to.”

“Not… Not at all?” said Jon, “You just do this all the time?”

“Pretty much,” said Morgan. “We’re not homeless, we do crash on Nick’s couch whenever we need a day off. But mostly, yeah, we just do stuff like this.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Jon marveled.

“It can be,” said Morgan. “Better than being trapped in one place.”

Jon wasn’t sure what kind of expression his reaction had translated to, but whatever it was drew a long, sympathetic look from Morgan. “Mmmh,” she hummed gently. She set her rock down and leaned on a shelf. “You too?”

Jon paused. He nodded.

“You mentioned an archive,” said Morgan, “Is it just you, back home?”

“No,” said Jon, “No, I’ve got… well, not friends, exactly. I know, that sounds bad, it’s… Well, it kind of is. The Archive, not the people. They’re the only thing worth staying for.”

“Always are,” said Morgan.

“You were all alone, weren’t you?” Jon asked. The parts of his situation that Morgan found familiar were painting a clear, bleak picture of what she’d escaped to be here. The dark places in here eyes were filled with more long, quiet nights than she cared to count.

Morgan studied him with the same serious appraisal she’d been giving the rocks. “Watch out for that. I hope you find your way out. But until you do? Don’t be alone.”

They both turned their attention to the other side of the alcove, where Static Man had dragged Nick in as a reluctant wingman. Nick was desperately trying to focus on the rocks while still making the appropriate comments on whatever Static Man was saying.

“Even if you end up stuck with dorks like these,” Morgan said fondly.

She turned back to the shelves as Static Man continued recounting the time he and Nick had fought a tribe of cyborg motorcycle centaurs.

“And then I was like, ‘Hands off my friend, you gas-guzzling son of a bitch!’” he exclaimed, and grabbed Nick’s shoulder for emphasis.

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Nick complained, holding a rock with a vein of crystal through it up to the light. “They didn’t even use gas, they had biofuel. It’s the whole reason we were there, remember? Those bugs were eating all their crops.”

“It was a drought,” Jon corrected him. Nick and Static Man looked over in surprise. “The bugs were just there looking for water. The sonic generator you used to drive them away shook loose an underground spring that saved the plants. Sort of an adjacent solution, I suppose.”

Jon tensed, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Instead, Nick rounded on Static Man with a triumphant fist upheld. “I knew it!” he crowed, looking between him and Morgan. "And you were worried it would cause structural damage!"

"Uhh because it did?" she said, "That's one step away from a sinkhole, in my limited knowledge of dirt things."

"Hey, Archivist? New rule," Static Man grumbled, "You only get to use your psychic powers to help _me_ win arguments, got it?"

"I'll take that under advisement," said Jon, offering him an awkward smile. He tapped on the rock he was holding, and held it out to Nellie. “How’s this one?”

“Ohh, look at that,” she cooed. “It likes you!”

Jon stared down at the rock. It was not pretty, an unremarkable brown with a large black spot on one corner. The surface was smooth but not glossy, as if from wear rather than polish. It had an oddly comforting weight to it. Somehow it felt solid and dependable in a way that nothing else in the Arcade had. He could feel his own warmth reflected back towards him from how long he’d been holding it, magnified and radiating up his arm. _My Girl_ by the Temptations had started playing over the store speakers.

“It _does_ ,” Jon said incredulously. “I don’t- how? _Why_?”

“How much is it?” asked Morgan.

“For him?” said Nellie. She studied Jon, eyes flicking between him and the rock. “I’d settle for one of those scars.”

Jon looked up. “Excuse me?”

Nellie traced a little crescent on her cheek where Jon had a scar from Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Institute. The ferret crawled up to nuzzle her fingers as she did so. “They’ve got a real _arte povera_ vibe,” she explained, “I know a fella on the collector’s circuit who’d trade something good for one like that.”

“Riiiight,” said Jon, more a signal of acknowledgement than understanding. “If we’re ignoring the obvious questions as usual, am I allowed to haggle? There’s one on my leg that I’d like to be rid of.”

With an appraising sort of hum, Nellie leaned down and inspected the leg in question from a respectful distance. Jon clutched his rock a little closer.

“What’s wrong with that one?” asked Static Man, “Like, as opposed to the ones all over your face. And your hand. Man, you have a _lot_ of scars, how did I not notice that before?”

“It’s a reminder,” explained Jon. “I suppose they all are, but this one’s different. It... hurts differently.”

“I gotta stop asking you questions, because every time you answer one I have, like, five million more,” said Static Man, a distinct tone of admiration in his voice.

“Nice to see that I’m not the only one,” Jon said dryly.

Nellie straightened to face Jon again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t budge on the price,” she said. “That one’s in deep. Now, the ones up top, you’ve got a few to spare.”

“Worth a shot,” said Jon, shrugging. “I’ll take it.”

He resisted the urge to squirm away as Nellie tugged down the neck of his shirt, revealing a scar just under his collarbone. She scrubbed at the edges of it gently until a sliver curled up into itself, then took the edge between two fingers and pulled. It came away to reveal smooth, unblemished skin underneath, as if it had never been there. Jon rubbed the spot with his free hand. He’d expected it to hurt. It just felt like peeling off an old band-aid.

“Thank you for that,” he said.

“My pleasure, dear,” Nellie said with a smile. She rolled up her sleeve around the ferret and carefully placed the scar on her shoulder, smoothing it down until it stuck in place.

“It looks good on you,” Morgan commented.

“Yeah, you look like a badass,” said Static Man appreciatively.

Nellie laughed. “What sweet young people you are! Are you sure there’s nothing else I can help you with before you go?”

“Actually,” said Nick, “There was one other thing. I was hoping to buy some pet food. We need birdseed and something for rats, mice maybe.”

Nellie gave him a knowing look. “The tailors. I thought it might be that one. You’ll want some fish food as well, everyone forgets to feed the fish. Tell you what, mister magic man. I’ll give it to you for free on the condition that you make sure that rock has a home after you’ve used it.”

“You’re familiar with the ritual, then,” said Nick. “You understand what I have to do to it?”

“It’ll survive,” said Nellie, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s a rock, not a champagne glass. I’ve just seen too many of the poor things thrown in the gutter after some hooligan has their way with them.”

Nick nodded. “I don’t see that being a problem. The Archivist seems pretty attached already.”

“Its name is Shirley,” Jon interjected. He was now clutching his rock in both hands and brushing his thumb absently back and forth over its spot. “And I’ll take good care of it.”


	5. Sic Transit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wants to take a shortcut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for canon-typical Corruption nonsense, and some violence.

The excitement of the night’s activities was doing a decent job of keeping Jon awake. It also involved a lot more walking than he was used to. It occurred to him that he didn’t remember the last time he’d slept. He wasn’t even considering a full night’s sleep, that was well out of the realm of possibility. He’d struck an uneasy truce with the process, timing his work around when it might be most convenient for him to pass out at his desk for an indeterminate amount of time. His instinct was not to say anything now that sleep was catching up with him. When he found the tailors over an hour away, though, something broke inside him.

“We’re taking a detour,” he told the group. An odd look was passed around, but no one argued when he led them just a couple intersections away and started squinting around for what he’d been looking for. They should have been right on top of it, but were instead sandwiched between a closed segway rental shop and store pronouncing itself as ACME Water Slides. “There's sort of a tram system in this section. There should be cars somewhere? I don’t think it’s on a rail.”

“Like a funicular,” Nick suggested.

“Yes, exactly,” said Jon.

“Would this funicular happen to be ferret-based,” Nick asked very seriously.

“I literally cannot imagine how or why that w-” Jon started to say, stopping himself short with a sigh when Nick pointed towards the ceiling.

Two thick metal cables ran the length of the Arcade parallel to the hallway, criss-crossing at each junction like an enormous loom. As if on cue, something four-legged and furry and approximately the length of a VW bus bounded down one of the cables away from them, moving quickly but surprisingly quietly. Jon could just barely make out a vehicle cabin harnessed to its back.

“Of course,” said Jon, who was about ready to take his rock and go home right then and there. “At least it’s not spiders. What now?”

“We could try to lure one down,” said Morgan. She inspected the contents of her Joann’s bag thoughtfully. “Ferrets eat meat right?”

“Awww, come on,” said Static Man, leaping immediately to whatever conclusion she had reached. “I liked those ones.”

“I told you, they’re already going stale,” said Morgan. She pulled out what looked at first like a very large chew toy, but which Jon realized with horror was a human tibia covered in blunt, decorative spikes. As she did so, she jogged over to the nearest intersection to wave it at something she spotted in the distance. A massive ferret slowed to a stop in front of her, arching its back to sniff at the offering. After a brief appraisal, it slunk to the floor and wiggled expectantly.

“Thank you, Morgan,” Static Man commented with mock sincerity as they piled into the cabin. “Hey, we should get one of these.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Nick, and sounded like he meant it. “The food wouldn’t be cheap, but imagine the cuddles.”

The cabin was, not surprisingly at this point, bigger on the inside. They had to duck past the door, but the ceiling extended up several feet into the space the ferret should have been occupying. There was a booth with six cushy seats across from a screen of scrolling pink text.

“Uhh,” Nick hovered by the screen, poking it experimentally. The text was packed so incomprehensibly tightly that it was impossible to read while it was in motion. “You guys might want to get comfortable.”

“Here,” said Jon. He touched something that looked like a scroll bar on the side of the display, dragged it to a very precise point, and selected one of the items. The screen darkened to make way for an animation of some cartoon leaves, revealing a minimalist logo that read Birch & Co. Jon gave Nick a supportive pat on the shoulder before settling himself into the booth.

“Hey,” Static Man whispered loudly to Nick, “We should get one of those, too.”

Jon stifled a laugh as he relaxed back into his seat. “You’ve already got the food budget sorted. But I’d prefer we stay clear of any snuggle-related services.”

"You're not even in the same ballpark of how cuddly a giant ferret would be," Static Man reassured him.

The interior was cozy, in a touristy sort of way. It looked like someone had transplanted a pub booth into a ferris wheel compartment. There was a dizzying moment when the ferret wriggled back up onto its cables, inexplicably not rotating the cabin at all, but soon enough they were headed at a swift pace towards their final stop in the Arcade.

“I thought we were in for another rest stop,” said Morgan, peering out of the window. “Maybe hang out in a bookstore for a while. This is way better.”

Jon shuddered. “I really don’t want to see what kind of books this place has to offer.”

“Really?” Nick said, not hiding his surprise. “I figured you’d be kind of a bookworm.”

“In a general sense,” said Jon. “I’m not fond of titles with special effects. Have you heard of Jurgen Leitner?”

Nick tilted his head thoughtfully. “It sounds familiar. I’ve probably seen some of his stuff, but I wouldn’t recognize it.”

“Like the band Kiss,” Static Man added helpfully.

“He had a book collection,” said Jon, deciding to ignore this comparison. “It got loose several years ago, and its constituents have been making themselves a nuisance ever since.”

“Again, like Kiss,” said Static Man.

“You’ve-” Jon was about to say to Morgan, when he realized that she hadn’t actually told him about her encounter with a Leitner. Judging by the panicked look on her face, she also hadn’t told Nick or Static Man. “You’ve not heard of him, either, I take it.”

Morgan relaxed. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” she shrugged.

“Count yourselves lucky, then,” said Jon.

“I’m not so sure,” said Nick. That recognition on his face was resolving into a suspicious look that made Jon’s hair stand on end. Nick unsaddled his bag and started to rifle through it. “Could you identify something for me? I know we’re behind a statement, but I’m sure we could work out some-”

“Nicholas, what I want most in this world right now is a nap and a granola bar,” Jon said tersely. “Show me the book.”

Nick retrieved a slim brown paper bag closed at the top with painter's tape. It looked for all the world like he'd gotten a postcard from a gift shop. Inside was a travel brochure decorated with badly photoshopped pictures of planes and buses, with text that asked boldly "WHERE WILL YOU GO?" It took Jon a second to notice that the text was in Arabic. Judging by the lurid colors and the way the vehicles seemed to judder and shift, Jon guessed it was something to do with the Spiral. The side of the brochure was also taped shut. Nick made no motion to remove the restraints.

"Where did you get this?" asked Jon.

"The same place I got you," Nick said reluctantly. "I found it right next to the ritual that summoned you. I haven’t tried it yet, it’s… sort of a beta tester. Any good vendor has a few in the back. Most will cut you a deal if you’re willing to take a chance on one. They’re more dangerous, since what comes out the other end is purely theoretical, but potentially very valuable.”

The supposed Leitner seemed well secured, so Jon decided to stop and address this new detail of his situation.

“Are you saying you found me in a discount bin?” he asked.

Nick opened and closed his mouth, trying to find a way not to answer the question. “Technically, they are paying me.”

“Good lord,” Jon muttered.

“Wait, this wasn’t tested?” asked Morgan, “Nick, you said it was safe.”

“It is. _He_ is,” Nick insisted tiredly. “The guy’s scared of spiders, for Christ’s sake.”

“You had _no_ way of knowing,” Morgan exclaimed.

“Were you, like, not there when he lobotomized half a dozen swamp monsters?” said Static Man. He made an apologetic gesture to Jon. “No offense, dude.”

“No, that’s exactly what I mean,” said Jon. “You’re only putting yourself in danger dealing with these powers. Some of the others would have hurt you quite badly by now.”

“What’s this ‘others’? Are you dangerous, or not?” Nick drawled. He gave Morgan and Static Man a dissatisfied look. “I did plan for that. You two at least should know better.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jon started to argue.

“Then we’re having two different conversations,” Nick said sharply, cutting him off. “I trust the untested rituals exactly as much as I trust the tested ones, which is not at all. That works both ways. I can’t trust things like you until I’ve stared down their throat and gotten a good, long look at what makes them tick. I’m sure you think you’ve been very gracious this whole time. But you’re not the only one who’s pulling punches to get through this a little more comfortably. I can assure you, Archivist, that this would have been a very different experience for you if I’d wanted it to be.”

Jon caught the edge of the thoughts Nick was dancing around, and was in no mood to respect that privacy anymore. Nick’s very first statement had risen to the front of his mind again, the one he thought he’d had the decency not to touch. He unfolded a memory of heartbreak, of trust and hope that had been broken beyond all reason or repair. He could have pulled the whole thing from him like a stray thread from the hem of a jacket.

Instead, he awoke several minutes later in a darkened room.

“Heyyyy, discount bin,” said a shifting assortment of shapes at the edge of his vision. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Gbvfhnh,” said Jon. While this wasn’t what he’d intended to say, it conveyed vital information about how the inside of his skull was melting all over his brain.

“Cool, cool,” said the shapes. “FYI, we’re at the place. Doing the thing. And now we’re in the waiting room, cause it has niiiice comfy couches.”

“I was not aware that you had fingers,” Jon told the shapes, which sounded an awful lot like Static Man.

“Yeah, ‘fingers’ is kind of a strong word,” Static Man agreed. “What’s like, appendages, but for your appendages? Appendageages.”

“Digits,” Jon whimpered. The noise - any noise - made his blood pound distressingly, forcing his skull up against the other, more tender parts of his head. There was a distinct gray ache in his stomach that told him it was well past time he asked after that statement he was owed. He managed to move a hand up to his temples and started poking around to see if he could massage the pain away. “Wh… What happened?”

“Beats me, man. You guys had a psychic fight or something and you passed the fuck out,” Static Man failed to explain. “Nick said you were poking around in his head. That true?”

Jon let his hand settle over his eyes. “Yes. That was… An extremely poor decision.”

“...yeahhhh.”

Even if he’d been able to see Static Man’s face, it wasn’t likely that Jon could have read his expression. Judging from the length of the silence that followed, it was not a favorable one.

“Morgan was pissed,” Static Man spoke up again. “She thought you were dead for a second.”

“That’s kind of her to be concerned,” Jon muttered. “Where are they now?”

“Inside. They left me out here to guard the door, and our ride home.” A certain energy had drained from Static Man’s voice, as well as a good amount of volume.

Beyond him, Jon could hear faint sounds of nature. Water flowed over rocks, and something small rustled through foliage. Jon painstakingly adjusted to a sitting position and got a good look at their final stop. It didn’t look like a forest had invaded an expensive spa, so much as the two environments had grown up in tandem and arranged a business partnership along the way. Hardwood flooring snaked a path through beds of dark, loamy earth. Plants of varying size but uniformly good health spilled out over the dirt. It was hard to see the walls or the ceiling through the tree canopy, a problem that was not helped by the tastefully dimmed lighting.

Jon looked up to see Static Man lounging against a tree by the end of the bench (which was in fact very comfy) that had housed his head. He attempted an excruciatingly awkward smile.

“I hope you’re not still worried that I’ll run off,” said Jon.

“Honestly, dude, I don’t know what to worry about you,” Static Man commented. “You just attacked my best friend.”

“I am sorry about that, and I intend to tell him as much when he comes back,” said Jon. There was a tight sort of helplessness in his chest, and it trickled down into his gut as a deep, queasy feeling of disappointment. He’d had all the means in the world to get this right, and he had still managed to make himself hated and feared. Perhaps that was really all the Archivist was good for.

“Hey, you know what happens when I apologize?” Static Man replied, “After I attack someone?”

Jon stared at him hopefully.

“Usually, they’re still dead,” Static Man told him.

Jon glanced down again. Someone had laid his tape recorder discreetly on the floor, next to where the group’s belongings were piled at the head of the bench. A very small corn snake was observing him from atop it. It declined to skitter into the underbrush when they made eye contact. It also declined to put a good word in on his behalf.

“Would you believe I was scared?” he asked very quietly.

Static Man laughed. “That’s what you’re going for? You’re the scary one. That’s literally your whole thing.”

“Not really,” said Jon. “If anything, it’s my job to be scared. A passive observer to things that frighten and disturb. Everything else is rather ornamental.”

“That’s… Yeah, okay, that sucks,” Static Man said, shifting uncomfortably, “Still not getting why the hell you think it’s okay for you to act like this.”

“Because you’re good people, and it scared me to think of you getting hurt,” said Jon. “I’ve seen so many people die because of things like me, and the powers that made me what I am. Hearing him talk about it like it’s some kind of tool, another magic trick to add to his collection, I just… I panicked. No one encounters these forces without a price. The kind of people who go after them voluntarily tend to get someone else to pay on their behalf.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Static Man spat. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about Nick.”

“I know he’s not like that,” Jon shot back, “Which leaves the alternative: he has no idea what he’s getting into. There’s no coming back if he finds out the hard way.”

They both looked away sharply at the sound of the front door opening. Jon’s heart sank to see a familiar woman with a brown hemp apron and a face full of piercings taking in the interior with a polite, disinterested smile. She wandered to the empty front desk, and made a show of pretending to notice Jon and Static Man only as soon as she neared the benches.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, “Please. Don’t stop on my account.”

“What do you want?” Jon snapped at her. The pierced woman looked surprised, almost offended.

“Just taking a walk,” she said breezily. “I needed some time to think about our conversation. I thought maybe you did too. You’re about done here, right? Do you have a minute to circle back, rethink my offer?”

“I think I made it very clear that I’m not interested,” said Jon.

“I don’t think that’s what you said,” she told him. “You said, you made a deal with these people. And you implied pretty heavily that, when they’re gone, you’ll be free to go.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Jon. He leaned down to pick up the tape recorder before standing beside Static Man.

“I definitely wouldn’t warn you ahead of time,” said the pierced woman. “What I _would_ do is wait for a dramatically appropriate moment to drop in and let you know that all hope is lost, and your friends are surely dead by now.”

An extremely sad mechanical noise came from the other end of the room. Morgan stood in the doorway to the rest of the store, clutching a bloody hunk of fabric to her shoulder with one hand, and her weaponized instrument in the other. The bottom half of the instrument was a splintered mess. She looked between the three of them. Her eyes settled on Static Man.

“Go,” she said hoarsely, “Get Nick.”

Static Man barreled past her into the room beyond with a roar like a passing semi truck. Morgan limped over to Jon, who reached out quickly to steady her.

“Guess he decided not to eat you,” she said.

“I _am_ your ride home,” Jon pointed out. Morgan smiled.

“He’s pulled worse stunts,” she said. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So I heard,” said Jon. He helped her onto the sofa to secure her makeshift bandage, and tried not to look too closely at the messy gouge that it was covering. “That’s better than I usually get.”

“Are you two finished yet?” said the pierced woman irritably. “I’ve got some murders to commit, and I’d like to get started.”

Morgan glanced over at her with an almost palpable disdain before returning her gaze to Jon. She stretched to hook a shopping bag with her foot from the pile next to the bench. “Think you can get this one? Just need to catch my breath.”

“You want his help?” said the pierced woman with a laugh. “Sorry to break it to you, but the only thing he’s well-equipped to hurt is himself.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” said Jon. “Speaking of hurting yourself, why don’t you tell me about some of your jewelry?”

The pierced woman winced, and gave him an annoyed look. “We both know that’s not going to work on me, Archivist.”

“Perhaps not in your own little nest,” Jon argued. He stretched the limits of his focus on her, drawing on the growing, insistent hunger that was tying his insides to knots. “You said yourself that this is neutral territory, Ms… Daria, that was it. You wanted to talk, Daria. Let’s talk. Let’s hear about your last love, before the spiders. The sweet taste of poison on your lips. The holes driven through your body, your mind, your very being, by small and loathsome creatures you called friends. Tell me, Daria, did the spiders ever fill that space inside you after they collected what was left? Or is metal all you have to show for it?”

“You’re only slowing the inevitable, Archivist,” Daria said quickly. She shook very slightly, as though trying and failing to get away.

“How dare you threaten me with longing for my home,” Jon continued, “When you still dream of the hive? A love fermented into acid so sharp and vile that you’ll never taste anything so strong again. Not til the day your own corpse begins to rot around your tongue.”

“Ugh, Jesus,” Morgan exclaimed quietly next to him, but the words weren’t coming from inside Jon anymore, and he could not turn to look at her face. Every part of him was enraptured by drawing out whatever dark memories would keep Daria at bay. A noise like a tuning fork began to ring out from somewhere near Morgan’s voice. He wouldn’t have to hold her much longer.

“Mine will come for me,” said Daria. Tears were streaming down her face, leaving deep, steaming gouges in her skin. “And they’ll come for you, too. You’ve lost already. It doesn’t matter what you do to me.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would,” Jon agreed, “But I’m pretty sure it’ll make me feel better to watch.”

Unfortunately, when Morgan cleaved Daria’s head from her shoulders with a red-hot violin bow, Jon felt no such thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay,
> 
> I PROMISE the wait won't be as long as it was for the next chapter, just got tied up at work. A lot.


	6. Please Exit Through the Gift Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things were always meant to be parted with. Others refuse to leave you alone under any circumstance. Very rarely does either variety care about your opinion on the matter.

They’d been gone too long.

Jon knew it in such a bone-deep, paranoid way that he almost discounted the feeling out of hand. He didn’t have instincts anymore, just information, and anything that he might have called a “gut feeling” was more likely to be coming from somewhere distant and cobwebbed than inside him. He shuffled farther away from Daria’s corpse. Towards the inside of the store. He could no longer hear Static Man carving through whatever had attacked Morgan, and, as he had observed previously, silence was not a good thing to hear from him instead. Morgan was gone, gone to get them a quick escape route when they were ready to leave, and if they weren’t fighting, it meant that one or the other party had been defeated and something was holding up the survivors.

What it all added up to was simply that they had been gone too long.

Jon examined the entrance. The corn snake from earlier, having been dislodged from Jon’s tape recorder, now observed him from near the door.

“I’m not totally helpless,” Jon informed it. “I can buy them some time. Enough for them to escape.”

A wave of nausea bubbled up through him as he spoke. “It’s not like I used any serious amount of energy, fighting that spider woman. I certainly didn’t overdo it to get back at her.”

The corn snake regarded him impassively.

“Look, I can still cause a distraction,” Jon insisted. “I’m not just the Archivist.”

The corn snake didn’t disagree.

“Right,” Jon said quietly, taking a step towards the door, and then another. “Right.”

The interior had been a very cozy workshop at some point in the recent past. Long, low tables were overturned over the splintered remains of wooden bench seats, and several plush armchairs had been eviscerated across the room. The place smelled of raw wood and thick leather. In the center of the chaos, a large green orb was embedded partly into the floor. Jon could just barely make out something that looked like a human inside.

“Nick,” he called out, running to the orb. The room was deserted, with no sign of whatever had caused the carnage. “Nick, is that you?”

“What-” Nick whirled around to face him. He didn’t look in as bad shape as Morgan had, but had clear scratch marks digging all the way through his shirt into his skin. “What are you- Get in! They’re still here.”

A clacking, rustling sound filled the air, and from underneath the destroyed furniture dozens of bodies began to emerge. They were only barely recognizable as the clerks from the fabric store. Some looked freshly made, with tattered gingham skin and crisp, clean aprons, while others were more plant matter than fabric. Jon was extremely distracted by one that had several googly eyes pasted over its face. Nick seized his wrist and dragged him into an opening in the orb, which closed up as soon as he was inside.

“Congratulations,” said Nick, “Now we’re both trapped. For as long as I can keep this barrier up, at least.”

“What happened to-”

“Gone,” Nick growled, “He’s gone, we’re on our own. They ambushed us just as we were about to leave.”

“...shit,” said Jon.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “I take it there’s nothing you can do to get these things off us?”

The swarm of clerks was growing larger as more and more of them emerged from hiding. The first wave had reached the barrier, but seemed unable to break through.

“Not this many,” said Jon. “There was someone out front I had to deal with. I’m a bit worn out.”

“Did Morgan make it out?” Nick asked immediately.

“She’s fine,” Jon assured him. “She put the finishing touches on that particular conversation.”

Nick nodded, doing some mental calculations. “Good. That just leaves us.”

From the looks of it, Nick was already well into brainstorming his escape plan. He had a fistful of small papers that he was now folding methodically and stowing into a shopping bag. Under his jacket sleeve, Jon could make out something that looked like runic symbols scribbled onto his skin in smudged marker. He didn’t take the time to See what they meant. It was safe enough to assume it wasn’t anything good.

Whatever stage his planning had gotten to, he seemed to think that Jon would be an addition to his resources rather than a drain on them. “You’re out of juice, so… The stories, you said you’re powered by stories.”

“Nicholas,” Jon said warningly.

“You know what I have,” Nick cut him off. The statement was back - Capital ‘S’, for Nick, his most valuable one - but Jon bit back his hunger and simply glowered at him. “Will it be enough?”

“Yes, but-”

“Do it,” said Nick. “Ask me about my father.”

Jon took a deep breath, trying to rationalize how this conversation would surely go. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t do it,” Jon repeated. “Especially not that one. This is hurting you, whether or not either of us admit it, and I won’t do it anymore. Two is too many as it is. I should never have agreed to this in the first place, and neither should you.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Nick. “You know there’s more where that came from.”

“You’re not a bloody vending machine!” said Jon. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Okay. This is cute, and all?” said Nick, “But now is not the time to feel bad for me. I don’t really get what you want out of this, this whole sappy-”

“I want to apologize,” Jon said over him.

Nick’s expression tightened. He took a step back to lean against the green, glowing barrier. It took Jon a second to realize that he was waiting.

“I’m sorry,” said Jon, not reluctantly but with no small amount of difficulty. “For trying to hurt you just to make a point.”

Nick stared into the open air over Jon’s shoulder rather than making eye contact. Jon took this as a sign that he shouldn’t be finished yet.

“I didn’t want-”

“You weren’t wrong,” Nick said at about the same time. They both stopped short, waiting for the other to continue, until Nick broke the silence again. “You and Morgan. She had a point. I should have told them. I got impatient, and I told myself I could protect them. No matter what happened.”

He waited for Jon to say something smug. There was a time not too long ago when Jon absolutely would have. Now, though, the whole thing just felt too familiar, and he could only think of what he would want to hear if he admitted the same thing. He settled on nothing at all.

“I’m sorry I called you a ‘thing,’” said Nick. As far as Jon could tell, this meant that nothing was exactly the right thing to have said. “You’re not, and I know that. It’s just easier to say than admitting I… Well.”

“You don’t trust people,” Jon finished for him.

“Yep,” said Nick, “That’s the one.”

Nick rested his head back against the barrier. If he was at all bothered by the half-dozen feral plant monsters clawing away inches from his face, then he didn’t show it.

“It’s not easy,” said Jon. “The whole trusting people thing.”

“It’s also not safe,” said Nick. “Some of us have people we need to take care of.”

“Some of us can only wish we still did,” said Jon.

They sat in the dim glow of Nick’s shelter in silence. Slowly, eventually, the clerks started to slow down to conserve their energy. Several of them shambled back into hiding, awkwardly pulling bits and pieces of debris over themselves. 

“I’m so sorry about your friend,” Jon added. “You seemed very close.”

Nick lifted his head to give him a blank look. “Static Man? What about him?” he asked.

“Er… Isn’t he, um… dead?” Jon said.

“Oh. He’s fine,” said Nick, looking relieved. “He’s probably going to be less dead than us when all this is over.”

“What?” asked Jon, “You said he was gone.”

“Yeah, back to his- It’s hard to describe. Back home, I guess?” Nick explained. “There’s a place you can summon him from. In order to have a corporeal form, Static Man needs to be recorded. They crushed my tape recorder, so -” Nick made a cartoonish popping noise with his mouth.

Jon started to laugh.

“What?” Nick asked.

“Can you get him back?” asked Jon, still grinning, “Here, right now?”

“Not really,” said Nick, “I can call him, but we don’t have a - _oh!_ ”

Nick remembered Jon’s tape recorder at the exact moment that Jon pulled it out from his jacket pocket. The cashiers renewed their frenzy at the sight of it.

“You might have wanted to keep that hidden,” Nick pointed out.

“Trust me,” said Jon. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

Nick fumbled for his phone, jabbing in a few numbers on the screen. “Hey,” he said softly into the microphone, “It’s me.”

“Well, hi there, ‘me.’ I’m Static Man,” Static Man boomed from directly behind them in the bubble. His companions swore loudly and scrambled to make room for him, an effort that was complicated when he wrapped an arm around both their shoulders and hugged the whole group into a mound on the floor. “You’re alive! We all good? No more mind battles?”

“How are you this _heavy_?” Jon wheezed.

“It’s- No, we’re alright now,” Nick laughed. “He was right.”

“In all fairness, so were you,” said Jon.

“I do that a lot,” said Nick.

“I’m so proud of you guys,” said Static Man, pulling them back to their feet. “Now, what’s popping?”

“This shield, in just a second,” said Nick. The break in his concentration had caused it to dent in several places under the clerks’ fists. “Get ready. Archivist, keep ahold of that tape recorder.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Jon insisted.

Static Man squared up at one side of the bubble, the edges of his barely tangible body fuzzing with anticipation. He was through almost before Nick had created an opening, and managed to tear apart a clerk before the lot decided to give him a wide berth. The three made slow progress toward the entrance. Static Man divided his attention between threatening the crowd in front of him and keeping the occasional straggler at bay. With every step there seemed to be more plant monsters pouring from their hiding places, and with every nervous scan of the crowd they appeared to be getting closer.

A hand closed around Jon’s ankle.

In an instant, he was ripped from the company of his friends and into the swarm. Hands tugged at his arms, his clothes, his hair, but - as he expected - didn’t move to harm him. He hurled the tape recorder away from him, and the distraction gave him just enough of a window to escape. All three of them looked on as the recorder was ripped to shreds.

“Welp, it’s been real,” Static Man said grimly. “Don’t know how you guys are going to get out of here without me.”

There was a short pause as Static Man realized that he was very much not discorporated.

“Wait,” he corrected himself.

The swarm looked around in confusion until one of them pointed to an overturned desk. They fell over themselves to retrieve a second tape recorder from underneath it, tearing it to bits. They looked expectantly to Static Man, who, to their collective disappointment, once again failed to disappear.

“Are you doing that?” Nick asked Jon.

“You know, I’m not sure,” said Jon. He pulled a third tape recorder from Nick’s shopping bag and tossed it to the crowd as well. “I’ve been blaming it on my boss, but at this point it seems far too helpful for that to be the case. Shall we?”

* * *

Half a dozen tape recorders and a couple especially aggressive clerks later, they emerged to find Morgan waiting for them with transportation. They were ushered into the cab of a ferret, and did not relax until Jon had punched in a destination and settled into a seat. Morgan started to dole out supplies to herself and Nick from the first-aid kit she’d retrieved from their bags. They moved quietly, but it felt more relaxed than solemn. There was a certain relief inherent in being alive to have injuries to recover from. Halfway through, something occurred to Nick, and he reached into his pocket.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly, “Should probably give you this back.”

He offered Shirley across the cabin to Jon. A large circular flake had been chipped out of her surface, on the side opposite her dark spot.

“No! What happened?” Jon gasped. He snatched up the rock and inspected the damage tenderly.

“It’s part of the ritual, from the tailors,” said Nick. “We needed a piece of a pet rock. I meant to ask you when we got there, but… Yeah.”

“Well, now you’ve gone too far,” said Jon, frowning. “Knocking me unconscious was understandable, but bringing an innocent rock into it is just cruel.”

As the others tried to figure out whether he was joking, Jon retrieved a band-aid from Morgan’s kit and applied it over the chip. Morgan was the first to laugh, although it was short and pained through some well-concealed injury. Static Man followed suit, then Jon, and finally even Nick contributed a smile.

“Do you want to see what they made?” asked Nick.

“Of- Of course!” said Jon, leaning forward eagerly. “I thought you said it was personal.”

“Consider it part of your payment,” Nick commented. He reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a large bundle of tissue paper. As he unwrapped it, Jon tried to formulate a way to tell him politely but forcefully that there was no way he was going to hold them to the original terms of the agreement. Maybe stress the point that he was getting quite tired of being just the Archivist. Consider reminding them that he hadn’t been entirely joking when he said that he needed a nap and some real, honest food. While he was at it, perhaps mention that the statements hadn’t been remotely as satisfying as just having something resembling a normal, human conversation with people who - in spite of all the pretense - seemed quite intent on treating him like a normal human.

Jon had distracted himself quite thoroughly by the time Nick revealed the contents of the tissue paper. He held a stunning green leather knapsack, constructed simply but very elegantly. It had one large pouch, and Jon recognized a piece of Shirley set into a bronze fixing on the flap that covered the top. To Jon’s continuing surprise, Nick held it out for him to examine. The leather was soft, and the silk-lined seams glistened slightly in the light of the directory screen. The whole arrangement was surprisingly lightweight.

“It’s a gift,” Nick explained. “We’re going to visit my sister in a few days. She’s pretty hard to get to, and I think I’ve finally found a solution. Watch.”

He pulled out a second, identical bag, dropped a roll of gauze into it, and gestured for Jon to open the one he was holding. Jon reached in and pulled out the very same gauze.

“You know, she’s always wanted to write you letters,” Jon commented. He tossed the gauze roll once in the air, then across to Nick, who fumbled it spectacularly. “She’s done it a couple times, when things were hard. Just thrown them out to sea. It did make her feel better, if it’s any consolation.”

Nick’s smile shifted tenor. Jon had startled something more genuine out of him, softer and less considered.

“Sure,” Nick said warmly. “Yeah, let’s call it that.”

By the time they were delivered to their destination, everyone had recovered enough energy to look forward to leaving. There was no lengthy walk this time, or even a storefront to navigate. Jon led them directly to a plain metal door set into the wall between two buildings, labeled simply “EXIT.”

A hand settled on his shoulder as he reached for the door handle. He turned to see a very concerned look on Nick’s face. Morgan would have looked much the same if she hadn’t been so exhausted. Static Man was barely watching, instead scanning their surroundings for any new threats.

“It’s alright,” Jon said gently, “We’re nearly there.”

The first thing that hit them was the smell. It was soft and sweet, like something beautiful had passed by leaving only the barest trace. It wasn’t rotten, although it was most certainly dead. Directly inside the door was a mountain of flowers so old and dry that they could have been made from paper. They were interspersed with sympathy cards that called out things like “I’ll miss you!” and “May you find comfort.” Despite the withered quality of the whole arrangement, the colors were still very vibrant. It probably hadn’t seen the sun in a while. At the center was a large stuffed bear giving structure to the flowers, its arms safety-pinned crudely together around a bundle of daisies. It held a sign that looked like someone had scrawled in crayon on the top of a cardboard takeaway box:

_For the lost._

“Oh,” Static Man said flatly.

Nick didn’t comment, pushing past into the corridor. Morgan and Static Man left Jon to linger at the shrine a little longer. The corridor itself was unremarkable, as was the door at the end of it. If it weren’t for the shrine, it would also have been fairly unremarkable that the door was locked.

“What did we miss?” Nick muttered. He and Morgan approached to examine the door critically. “Were we supposed to buy a key somewhere?”

Jon crouched down and lifted one of the flowers, drinking in the history. The offerings had been left piecemeal over a long time. Some were from groups that had to leave their friends behind. Others were put there by people who lived and worked in the Arcade, witnesses to deaths that they didn’t like to be complicit in. The shrine didn’t belong to the Arcade. If anything, it existed in spite of it. It was equal parts protest and comfort against the grinding, bloody machinery that made this place - and places like it - function. A very familiar machinery.

He looked down at his mug.

He knew who it belonged to, of course. He’d known ever since he became the Archivist - properly and truly the Archivist, not just someone with the title. He knew she’d kept it after her first university roommate left for grad school. They both agreed their brief relationship wasn’t anything serious, but she could never bring herself to ship this last remnant of her out to Norwich after finding it in the cupboard. And so she kept it. She kept it when she moved into her own flat. She kept it when she started a job at the Magnus Institute. She kept it when she moved into her new office in the Archive, which was not the office she deserved, and in the back of her mind she even planned to keep it when she found somewhere new to go. After the Archive took that chance from her, it kept the mug instead.

Jon knew all about Sasha James. It made it even more hurtful that he didn’t have any memories of her.

He placed a few flowers in the mug and settled it next to the bear. From the far end of the corridor, he heard the unmistakable hiss of a door opening, and the shrine was lit with the soft, tentative first rays of a sunrise.

* * *

“By all technical measures, I’d say you’ve more than held up your end of the bargain,” Nick pronounced to Jon once they were outside. He looked nervous, and without being prompted he explained why. “There’s still the matter of what I owe you. I think I’m up to two more statements?”

Jon made a grandiose show of thinking this over.

“Strange. Not by my count,” he said lightly. “We did two, plus the one about your sister. Counting this one, that brings us up to four, which I believe was the number we agreed upon.”

“This… what?” Nick asked. Jon gestured broadly at the Arcade behind him.

“This whole mess,” said Jon. "I wouldn't believe any of this unless I'd seen it myself. I'm still not entirely convinced that this hasn’t been some massive hallucination.”

“That doesn’t sound-”

“I’m sorry, are you the Archivist?” Jon said petulantly. “I think I know what a statement is.”

“Fair enough,” said Nick, smiling. 

“I do actually have one more question,” said Jon. “How did you all get here?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” said Nick. He paused to acknowledge that Jon hadn’t made him answer, although none of them commented on it. Instead, he pulled out his phone and offered it to Jon. “Let’s get you home.”

Jon accepted it hesitantly, as though it might disappear from his hands in some further expression of his supposed madness. It remained solid and real when he punched in a phone number. Nick, Morgan, and Static Man watched with bated breath to see what terrible power the Archivist would call to his aid in this dire time of need. Jon did his best to ignore them while he waited for someone to pick up the phone. A curt, guarded voice answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Basira, it’s Jon,” he said. “How are things?”

There was a pause, and a confused response. His audience exchanged a reverent look at hearing his name. “That’s actually what I’m calling about. Do you think you could send Helen to come get me?

"That’s a bit complicated. The short answer is, I have no idea.

"It’s not- I mean, technically, I was abducted, yes.

"Again.

"No, no I’m alright.

"No, they’re right here. We're, er, friends now.

"They took me to a cafe? They did try to feed me some chips that were, frankly, unspeakable.

"Help with their shopping.

"They appear to be some kind of Americans.

"Yes, I know that's n- No, they’re not affiliated. Not with any of them. One is, ah… he’s something, but not our kind of something.

"Weird does not begin to describe it.

“Erm, hang on-”

He tucked the phone out of earshot and looked to Nick. “How _did_ you get me out of the Archive?”

“Magic,” Nick said, as if this should have been obvious.

Jon looked at him like Nick had unexpectedly punched him in the face.

“Listen,” he returned to the phone, “Just- could you find Helen? I’ll explain everything when I get back.

"I don’t know. Wherever it’s narratively relevant for her to be. She might already be here.

"Sure. Thank you, Basira.”

They stood in silence for a few moments after he’d hung up, until Jon remembered to pass Nick back his phone.

“My name’s Jon, by the way,” he said awkwardly.

“Nice to finally meet you, Jon,” said Nick.

“So, Helen’s going to summon you back?” Morgan asked.

“That is not a thing,” Jon said, “If we’re lucky, she’ll find her way here and you’ll get to meet her. She’s… extremely interesting.”

“Dude, we gotta do this again sometime,” Static Man insisted.

Jon grimaced. "You all are lovely, really, but I would appreciate a bit more advance warning next time."

"Well, you’ve got my number now,” said Nick. “Next time you can call us.”

"That might be nice," said Jon. “I could use an excuse to get some fresh air. If you're ever in London, look up the Magnus Institute. You would legitimately be the first visitors I've had who haven't tried to kill me."

“Wait,” said Nick, stifling a laugh, “Just- London? You’re just, in London?”

“Where did you think I lived?” Jon asked, confused.

The others exchanged an apprehensive look. “An extraplanar prison, like the genie from Aladdin?” Static Man suggested.

“Some kind of library-based hellscape?” said Morgan.

“I thought you were a tulpa when you first showed up,” Nick admitted. “For at least half an hour.”

Jon scoffed. “Please. Some people live normal lives in normal places, like London.” He caught sight of a battered yellow service door in the side of the Arcade behind them. “Perhaps I’ll meet one of them if I stay there long enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that’ll be Helen.”

He strode over to open the door for her, and Helen unfurled from the corridors into the dusky sunrise of the parking lot. Her hair billowed as though underwater, and she adjusted her pant suit casually - or was it a pencil skirt? No, definitely a jumpsuit, the romper kind. It was more of an aesthetic concept than an outfit.

“We keep meeting like this,” she said, grinning, “I’m beginning to suspect you only like me for my intangible relationship with time and space.”

“Helen,” Jon said primly, “Good to see you, too.”

“Basira mentioned that you’d made some friends,” said Helen, towering over his shoulder. Jon followed her gaze to see the others huddled together, already reaching for various weapons. “So very lively! It’s nice to see you getting out of your shell more.”

Jon whirled around to face them. “It’s- It’s alright, she’s alright. This is Helen. Helen, this is Nick, Morgan, and…” He knew Static Man’s name, of course, but he hadn’t considered the possibility of saying it out loud until just that second.

“Static Man,” he said reluctantly. His tone, plus how much he appeared to relax once Helen had arrived, put the others at ease.

“Whatever, mister ‘I put a definite article in my name because I’m fancy and important,” Static Man scoffed.

“But I am the- There’s just the one. It’s not like-” Jon’s argument started to putter in a different direction in lieu of asserting that he was both fancy and important. “Look, Static Man is a fine name, it’s just excruciatingly American. You sound like you’re from a comic book.”

“Literally, you are the most British person I’ve ever seen,” Static Man said flatly.

“...yeah, that’s fair,” Jon sighed.

“Charming,” Helen said graciously. “Everyone’s quite cross with you back home. Are you sure you don’t want to go on the run for a while? You’ve got the right shoes for it - _goodness,_ those are hideous, I’ll have to come back for some.”

“I’ve had enough running for today, thank you,” said Jon. "It's time for us to go home."

* * *

After their guests had left, Morgan moved to put a comforting hand on Nick's back. "You gonna be okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" He took a second to parse the look Morgan and Static Man were giving him, and contributed a disapproving frown. "Hey. No."

"Hey, yes," Static Man rebutted. "You got it bad."

"If by 'it' you mean a completely professional relationship with a guy I met literally hours ago," said Nick, "Then yes, I absolutely have got that."

“Please,” said Morgan, “‘You’ve got my number?’ You should have just written it on his arm.”

“Yeah, those were some pretty professional longing stares,” Static Man added. “Dude rescues you one time and you’re ready to take him home. I thought I was gonna have to distract him while you looked for a ring.”

“Look,” Nick started to argue. “I think I’m allowed to be a little impressed by a demigod of secrets and forbidden knowledge.”

“That’s it, buddy, let it all out,” Static Man said reassuringly.

“Which I might have been attracted to,” Nick continued, ignoring him, “If he didn’t - and I quote - ‘have someone he wanted to get back to’.”

“Duel them,” Static Man jeered. “Fight for your star-crossed monster love.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you both checking out his friend,” Nick countered.

“She was so tall,” Morgan said wistfully.

“I already got one phone number out of this field trip,” said Static Man. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Hey, serious question: I wasn’t going to ask in front of him,” said Morgan, “But how _are_ we going to get home?”

Nick did not reach for his bag, where the Spiral-bound travel pamphlet was safely nestled. Instead, he led a very leisurely charge towards the opposite end of the parking lot.

“I told you, it’s fine,” he reiterated, “Don’t worry about it.”


End file.
